


Turn to You

by Frostwells



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, fluff in general, garcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 07:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostwells/pseuds/Frostwells
Summary: Turns out the historian and the terrorist has more than in common than they initial thought.They're both night owls.





	Turn to You

**Author's Note:**

> I've been lowkey Garcy trash for over a year. And then I started shipping Lyatt but guess who's back on their shit? I probably know Lyatt is endgame in all this but Garcia Flynn deserves the whole entire wold. Can't change my mind.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Timeless. If I did, Flynn and Lucy would've banged already.  
> Claimer: I do own all my grammatical mistakes like damn.

To the untrained eye, it may be difficult to notice any substantial changes to Lucy’s behaviour. The former Stanford professor still presented herself in a dignified manner; always the rational one out of her boys. The look of calm collectedness ever present on her face, no matter the situation presented to her whether it be facing Rittenhouse or a hoard of Puritans.

But being composed and standoffish were two different things.

Garcia Flynn first noticed a change in the historian’s behaviour when she first visited him in jail. Appearance wise, there wasn’t a drastic change compared to when he had lost saw her six months ago. Or had it only been six weeks since she’d betrayed him? Her hair was relatively the same length, despite concealing some of it with a cap. And she didn’t seem to be physically wounded.

Yet, when Lucy Preston locked eyes with his, Flynn had felt as if he might be looking at a different person entirely.

Some might argue that despite being a historian, the brunette might be too naïve, that the world in the past was defined as killed or be killed. That not everything can be solved with mercy and kindness. Yet, Flynn couldn’t bear to extinguish the pleading, hopeful look in Lucy’s eyes as his gun glinted in the moonlight, aimed at John Rittenhouse. All of this – all the killing, chasing each other in time – would’ve been over if she had let him kill the boy. But her damn perception of him being a good man prevented him from pulling the trigger.

The light he once saw in her hazel eyes seemed was no longer there.

Before, it was a steely resolve that drove her to stop him, to stop him from killing monumental figures in history. To preserve history as they knew it today. Yet, there was no signs of such on her face.

Lucy almost seemed hollow, a shell of a broken woman. Flynn knew this – he saw it in himself everyday in the mirror after his wife and daughter were murdered. Until Lucy saved him (or _will_ save him) by giving him a purpose; to destroy Rittenhouse.

There was no innocence in her eyes. No look of hopefulness. But she wouldn’t come to him for help if she felt defeated, no. Instead, there was hatred burning brightly in the shadows of his cell. Flynn could sense the determination in her to bring down Rittenhouse, even at the cost of killing her own mother.

The time bandit didn’t believe her at first, that she would do anything to bring the organization down. But when Lucy did not flinch at the suggestion of killing Carol Preston, he immediately knew something happened to her while he was imprisoned.

And he did not like it one bit.

X

Flynn had joked that Lucy appeared to be less scared than he initially remembered her to be. Of course, she was anything but a simpering girl. She had to be the bravest woman he had ever known. But the Salem Witch Trial had to be one of the bloodiest, tragic moments in American history. Twenty-two women were consecutively hanged in the same night, all believing them to be witches.

And she didn’t appeared to be even remotely daunted. 

The only time Flynn had seen Lucy give an emotional response was when she was accused of being a witch, by her own mother nonetheless. If he had a damn musket, like Rufus’s apparent psychic girlfriend foresaw, he would’ve shot the blonde woman whether Lucy would’ve approved it or not. But he didn’t. So, he ran. He ran to find gun to save everyone because he’d be damned if anything happened to her under his protection. He’s no Wyatt Logan.  

Thanks to her recklessness combined with stubbornness, it was a miracle Lucy got out with a just gash on her left shoulder coupled with other potential bruising. Still, that didn’t ease the guilt Flynn felt knowing he failed to protect her. 

He tried to help her in any way he could, even if that meant putting on her seatbelt for her, despite her protests. Or even offering emotional support because god knows she needed to hear _someone_ reassure her that she’s nothing like her mother. Why not him? Besides, he wasn’t coddling her…he just wanted to help her. And although Lucy was more than capable walking down the ladder herself (she just hurt her arm, not her bloody leg), it was merely out of Flynn’s own personal satisfaction to see the look of astonishment and jealousy etched on Wyatt’s face seeing him hold Lucy. Besides, the soldier had his wife now. Leave Lucy to him instead, to someone who truly understands her.

Flynn’ abnormal actions didn’t go unnoticed by Lucy. She’d look at him in skepticism, as if his sympathy was nothing but a ploy. For what, she didn’t know. But as the former terrorist gently tended to her wounds in the medical bay without asking for anything in return, she conceded that maybe in addition to Jessica Logan’s return, Flynn got a personality transplant. She told him in jest, of course, which was returned with a devious smile and a quip of his own. 

He was still the same old terrorist, Garcia Flynn, but she can get used to this kinder version of him.

X

The safe house was surprisingly quiet at this time of night. Usually, Lucy would hear the muffled voices of the Logans arguing in their bunker.

_“You didn’t tell me you time travelled, Wyatt!”_

_“That’s because everything I do is confidential, Jessica!”_

Surprisingly, it seemed they weren’t fighting tonight. Perhaps they opted doing other things that are less stressful to their persons like sleeping, or having sex.

Lucy didn’t want to imagine the latter. It still hurt knowing that Wyatt chose his resurrected wife over her. Of course, is she was in his position, she would do the same. But still, they didn’t really talk about the nature of their relationship; before and after they slept together in the 1940s. And considering the circumstances, she’d preferred if they never do.

Dressed in grey sweats and her burgundy hoodie, Lucy padded over to the makeshift lounge. It was surprisingly chilly during the evenings and she wished she wore her sneakers instead of just socks. She would be usually sleeping at this time, like every other sane person, instead of roaming around. But Jiya’s incoherent, prophetic mumblings coupled with her snoring made it impossible for Lucy to get any shut eye.

Seeing the light from the old fashioned television on meant someone else was there. Walking closer, the silhouette on the couch became more defined as Garcia Flynn craned his shoulder over his head and looked up at her in surprise before smiling at who was the intruder.

“Can’t sleep?”

Lucy pointed to the direction of her room with her thumb, pulling down at the hem of her jumper out of habit. “Jiya’s a sound sleeper.” She laughed softly at that, clearly an understatement. He looked at her in amusement before inviting her to join him.

She waved her hands in front of her, politely declining is offer.

“It’s fine. I think I’ll just grab a cup of water from the kitchen and go back to bed.” Just as she turned around, Lucy heard the sound of a cap being snapped off followed by the light sound of air hissing.

“Beer’s better.”                               

“Where’d you get the beer from?” she asked sceptically through slightly narrowed eyes. She knew for a fact Agent Christopher wouldn't allow alcohol in the premise, since everyone is always on call.

Flynn let out a noncommittal sound. “I got it from your Wyatt.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You mean _stole_ it.” She walked over to him and took the offered glass bottle from his hand, plopping down on the vacant space beside him with a quite _hoof_. “And he’s not _my_ Wyatt.”

With that, Lucy offered her bottle to him in toast and he clinked it together with his own before both simultaneously chugging down the bitter liquid. Flynn regarded her with amusement in his expression. He was quite aware of their coupling back in the 1940s and the feelings they had for each other. A part of him felt relieved that Wyatt decided to try things out with Jessica again. Lucy didn’t need a man who was indecisive with his feelings. She deserved someone who would be utterly devoted to her. Flynn’s not saying that’s not that man, considering he’s still fighting to see Lorena and Iris again. But he considered himself to be a better man than Wyatt Logan.

They sat together in relative silence save for the dull hum of the TV showing some old black and white film. The TV itself was no older than the programme it was airing. It was definitely no flat screen nor high-definition, considering this safe house had been vacant for quite some time and definitely didn’t have the time to update and remodel. But it certainly had its rustic charm to it and gave off a sense of nostalgia.

It reminded her of the better memories of her childhood, the one where Amy existed and her mother was still somewhat sick but still strong. The laughter they had, the happiness they shared.

Lucy was the first to break the silence. “I was going to kill her, you know?” she stated softly, staring at the TV, not really processing what’s happening in the show.

Of all things Flynn expected her to say, it wasn’t that, and that caught him off guard. He raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“My mother. You said that I didn’t have it in me to kill her. That it wasn’t believable.” She fiddled with the cool, glass bottle in her hand. “Six weeks ago, imagine my surprise when I found out that Rittenhouse kidnapped me and that my mother is technically royalty. Which makes me…royalty too.”

The anger and betrayal Lucy had felt when her own mother was part of the organization that threatened her closest friends, erased Amy, hell – made her own life a living hell. All she wanted was her old life back, even the imperfections of it.

Flynn sat in silence, looking at the woman beside him. There was no signs that she was lying about that. It literally changed her as a person. There was no doubt in the back of his mind that the sick bastards made her do things against her will. But he had to ask, just to make sure. “You honestly didn’t know your mother was Rittenhouse?”

“She never indicated it!” she answered, her voice slighted raised, but not loud enough as to disturb the others. “I mean, all she told me of my father was that he was her professor when she was college. They had a once night stand and never saw each after that. And then I was born. Never anything about him, never anything about herself.” 

“I know,” he answered quietly.

“You knew? How did –” Lucy’s face morphed from confusion to bitter understanding. “Right. My journal.”

“You gave it to me.” With an afterthought, Flynn added, “Well, you will give it to me. In the future.”

She scoffed. “You said as much.”

“Then, you sent me to jail.” His voice was light, almost teasingly and Lucy couldn’t help but smile at the morbidity of it all.

“That was Agent Christopher’s doing, if I remember correctly.” She took a swig out of her bottle. “And besides, I was the one that got you out of it when everyone wanted you dead.”

He never understood why Lucy held him with high regard. Well, not really high since prior to her accidental betrayal, she never made much of attempt to stop him. Shoot him, subdue him, kill him; she did neither of it. She can chase him throughout time but in the end, she never did try to really stop him. Maybe, in the back of her mind, what Flynn was doing was justified. Not right, but justified.

Flynn would never know. But he’s thankful for the kindness she had given him, especially the past few days. Living here at the safe house was not easy when everyone was hostile towards him, which was completely warranted since he’s a fugitive. But the constant scowls, witty remarks, the convenient, _I-forgot-to-tell-you-dinner-was-ready-so-food-is-in-the-fridge_ , it wouldn’t hurt for them to be at least civil or amiable. At least, Lucy treated him like a human being, even going as far as to say she trusted him. 

“While I wouldn’t be sorry for your mother’s death, I would be for yours, Lucy.”

It was an honest response. If anything were to happen to Lucy, whether it be kidnapping or god forbid, murdered, all unspoken promises and deals he had with Agent Christopher will be off. Fuck Rittenhouse. He’d go to hell to bring her back. And the truth of that scared the living shit out of him.

Flynn never anticipated to be infatuated with the historian, that his priority mission of saving his wife and daughter would be sidetrack to help her on a moment’s notice. When he had first met Lucy all those years ago, she was older, wiser. Her hair had more of greying wisps in it, and the crow feet around her eyes a little more defined. When she had given him her journal, not once did he anticipate on becoming completely enamoured with the time traveller, prompting him to become one himself in the name of vengeance.

“Well,” she started with her eyebrows raised, and took another swig of the alcohol, “if I was dead, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

Flynn let out a dry chuckle, following Lucy’s example and taking a sip of the dark yet opaque liquid. “No, I would not,” he conceded.

“You could’ve gone anywhere. Hide somewhere in America, go back home to Croatia. Why did you come help me?” Lucy asked, curious.

He only shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m a man of my word, Lucy. I said I’d help you in exchange for getting me out of that jail cell.” He looked down at her. “Besides, our interests now aligned. And that’s to destroy Rittenhouse and everyone in it.”

“With the exception of me?” It sounded more of a statement rather than a question.

He nodded. “With the exception of you, yes.”

Lucy didn’t know what to make of that. She’s Rittenhouse, hailing from the two most prominent families in the organization. If she was royalty, their beloved Princess, wouldn’t it make sense to kill her if they wanted to get to Rittenhouse? If Flynn had this mindset, would he kill her to achieve his goal? If Lucy had to pick a death, then she wouldn’t mind dying by his hands. At least, the very last thing she’d see was his face.

She suddenly felt ill at the thought. Or perhaps it was the alcohol. “I should get some sleep. We don’t know if the Mothership is going to jump tomorrow.”

“Yes, you should.”

“But I don’t want to move.”

“There’s enough room for two.” There was, in fact, not enough room for two. It was just a loveseat that left no space between them, even when just seated. But the warmth shared by both bodies felt absolutely good; it definitely beat leaving his company and being exposed to the cold air of her bunker.

Feeling embolden thanks to the alcohol in her system, Lucy tilted her head until it rested upon Flynn’s shoulder. She felt him tense and she briefly wondered if she had made the mistake if allowing her this much physical affection towards the man. But he eased her worries when he adjusted his arm and took the bottle out of her hand and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. He then wrapped his arm around her smaller frame so she rest her head on his shoulder a little more comfortably. He placed his large, warm hand on her left shoulder, squeezing it ever so slightly. Tentatively, Lucy slung her arm across Flynn’s abdomen as she shifted her body closer to him.

“Thank you,” Lucy murmured, already being lulled to sleep by the warmth and security he provided her just by holding her.

“For?”

“For this. For being here.” He didn’t say anything in response, but she didn’t need to hear anything back. Just holding her like this was enough. And much needed, for the both of them.

“Sleep,” Flynn orderly softly into her hair before pressing a feathered kiss on her temple, Lucy wondered if it was just her own strand of hair that gave her that impression. But the warm puff of hair she felt on her head, tucking her head underneath his chin confirmed her suspicions.

Lucy let out a contented sigh. They’re finally working together. Just like her journal had promised, they’re finally together. It took a while; a couple of bumps here and there, but it was all worth it just for this one moment of peace.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos or even a comment! It inspires me to write more!


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